


The Anti-Christmas Season

by tamnation



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Feelstide 2013, Get Together, M/M, anti-christmas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-11
Updated: 2013-12-11
Packaged: 2018-01-03 01:31:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1064090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tamnation/pseuds/tamnation
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint's fairly certain he and Coulson are the only sane people left at SHIELD.</p><p>For Feelstide prompt 102: Clint and Phil decide to be anti-Christmas and end up having feelings anyway</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Anti-Christmas Season

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Feelstide everyone :) Big thanks to the mods for running this again this year because it's such great fun.
> 
> A couple of notes: Firstly this is unbeta'd and I may have had less sleep than I should have when writing it, so any mistakes are entirely mine and I hope you'll all forgive me.
> 
> Secondly, the timing is a little bit vague, but I'd say sometime pre-movie because most of the Avengers will not be making appearances. Also vague handwavey gestures at Thanksgiving, which as an Aussie, I know nothing about. I'm fairly sure it's supposed to be somewhere between Halloween and Christmas, but Phil and Clint don't celebrate it and SHIELD agents prefer to decorate for Christmas really early or something.
> 
> Anyways, I hope you enjoy!
> 
> Disclaimer: If you recognise it then it belongs to Marvel and not me. I just like playing in Marvel's sandpit :)

 

Clint can’t take much more of this. There are decorations everywhere: at the store, on his street, in his building. Even the SHIELD hub is completely filled with streamers and wreaths and various other Christmas paraphernalia, and Clint can still remember the rather large pile of forms he’d had to fill out when he lived on base just to get a rug. To make matters worse? There’s still just over SIX whole weeks before they even get to Christmas. He’s fairly sure he’ll have cracked by then and either be rocking somewhere in a padded cell humming Christmas carols or locked up for shooting one of Sitwell’s ‘festive’ hats off his head.

 

“Oh thank god,” Clint says in relief as he opens the door to Coulson’s office and sees nothing out of the ordinary at all. He flops onto Coulson’s couch, smiling a little at the exasperated half-sigh Coulson gives without even looking up from his paperwork. If nothing else, Coulson is predictable, and Clint’s not entirely sure what he’d have done if Coulson’s office was filled with Christmas ornaments like everyone else’s seem to be.

 

“Can I help you, Barton?”

 

“No, sir. Just admiring your taste in interior decorating, sir.” Clint grins, already feeling more at ease in the Christmas free environment. He pauses as if contemplating the room’s décor before putting on his snobbiest tone and adding, “Very minimalist.”

 

“And your sudden urge to admire my wallpapering would have absolutely nothing to do with the six emails I’ve received today describing your behaviour as ‘concerning’, ‘disruptive’, and my personal favourite ‘a blight on the festivities,’” Coulson asks in a serious tone, clearly trying to be disapproving, but Clint could see the amusement in the crinkles around his eyes. Clint finds it amusing that some people just can’t seem to get a read on Coulson, because Coulson’s warm blue eyes are amongst the most expressive he’s ever seen.

 

“Sitwell took exception to my description of his hat?” Coulson nods and Clint smiles in half-remembered amusement. Sitwell had been proudly showing off his hat to a crowd of admiring junior agents who all appeared to have already sacrificed their sense of fashion to this Christmas madness. One of them had been wearing a santa sweater without even a hint of irony. Clint has never been a big enough person to walk past and not comment. He's fairly certain he'll cherish the memory of Sitwell's face when Clint had asked him exactly why a reindeer had thrown up on his head. 

 

“What is this all about, Barton?”

 

Clint throws him an indignant look. “Have you been out there recently, sir? There is Christmas crap everywhere: tinsel, wreaths, I think I saw Holly from HR hanging mistletoe in the kitchenette on the fourth floor, and I swear if I hear one more person humming jingle bells today, I can’t be held responsible for my actions.”

 

Coulson lets out a weary sigh and runs a hand over his face. Clint wonders if perhaps he should have kept his mouth shut. Unlike other handlers he’s worked with, Coulson generally listens to Clint’s pointless banter, and over the years he’s heard Clint say a lot of stupid, childish things, taking it in his stride and occasionally offering a dry retort. Coulson is on a very short list of people that just seem to _get_ Clint, but perhaps barging into his office to complain about Christmas might be a bit too much even for Coulson.

 

“I thought there’d be at least a week or two to work off the Halloween candy.” There’s a hint of disdain in Coulson’s voice and Clint looks up sharply. Normally, around this time of year when Clint gets sick of all things Christmas, people look at him sharply or tell him not to be such a Grinch. It’s not as if he doesn’t like Christmas, there’s normally good food and the more recent Christmas’ have had good company and generally been enjoyable days. But it’s just one day. A month and a half hype for a single day is just setting yourself up for disappointment, and people just seem to use it as an escuse for everything. _'Oh I can't really afford it, but it's Christmas,'_ or _'I should be putting in the hours on the range, but it's Christmas'_. Clint gets sick of it, real fast. From the sounds of it, he may have finally found someone who agrees.

 

“You’re not a fan of Christmas, sir?”

 

“I like the actual day well enough. I’ve got very fond memories of Christmas, and I like to try and spend it with the people I care about when I can,” Coulson smiles faintly. “It’s just…”

 

Coulson makes a vague encompassing gesture which Clint interprets as _‘all of that over the top, ridiculously commercial crap’,_ but he could be projecting. Clint nods in agreement. “I’m glad someone gets it. You might have to stop me shooting the next person who suggests that I _‘get into the holiday spirit’_.”

 

“I’m sure I can manage that.” Coulson smiles warmly at Clint, and Clint feels something flip in his stomach. He’s worked closely with Coulson for years now and he knows how rare those smiles can be. It’s a nice smile and there’s a sense of accomplishment that Clint gets from being the one to coax it out of the usually collected agent. “My door's always open if it gets too much. I doubt I’ll be redecorating any time soon.”

 

“Thank you, sir. I’m honoured to be a part of your anti-Christmas celebrations.” Clint’s only a little bit sarcastic and Phil grins.

 

“The stupidity around this time of year can be distracting. I’ll be glad of the company,” Coulson says, and Clint can’t tell if he’s just playing along or if he’s serious, but that warm feeling is back. Clint settles back on the couch, pulls out the tablet that he carries in his back pocket and gets on with his own work.

 

~~

November passes slowly, and after the original spur of Christmas decorating and festivities, most of SHIELD settles into a groove, on most days no more than an annoyance. SHIELD doesn’t hire stupid people, and word spreads around quickly that asking Clint anything Christmas related was a sure fire way to piss the archer off. Natasha’s off base for an undercover mission, so instead of sparring Clint tends to exert his frustrations by practicing his stealth and non-lethal target practice. Unsuspecting, overly festive agents tended to get hit by nerf darts, skittles, or on one particularly memorable occasion, a batch of festively shaped sugar cookies that he’d confiscated from the HR staffroom.

 

He’s been spending more and more time taking Coulson up on his offer, chilling on the couch in Coulson’s office. It’s calm, absolutely free of decorations, and there’s absolutely no chance that Coulson will start humming Christmas carols while he works. Clint finds it bizarrely relaxing, almost as if all the tension that builds up each time this stupidity is shoved in his face dissolves just knowing that he can let his guard down. But then, he trusts Coulson with his life on a regular basis, this should be nothing in comparison. Somehow, it doesn't feel like nothing.

 

Sometimes they just work in silence – well Coulson works, Clint plays games on his tablet or, on one occasion, naps on the couch after one of the people in his apartment buillding decides to spend the night before throwing a huge Christmas party with carols being blasted out of speakers until long after Clint has given up trying to sleep. Coulson always seems pleased to see Clint and is happy to let him stay on the couch for as long as he wants unless Coulson has a meeting.

 

There are times when the Christmas festivities grate more than usual and it’s nice to be able to vent to someone about the hassle of having to dodge junior agents with mistletoe, or how unfair it is that Clint gets an official reprimand when he uses the decorations in the range for target practice. Normally it’s Clint that does the ranting while Coulson listens sympathetically, but today Coulson’s glaring at the budget expenditure forms he’s supposed to be signing off on as if they are personally insulting.

 

“Books not balancing, sir?” Clint asks after Coulson gives a particularly frustrated sigh and crosses out what has to be several paragraphs in a bright red pen.

 

“I can’t bring myself to sign off on this stupidity. $300 for a plastic tree?” Coulson throws the reports a disgusted look, before standing and moving towards a small coffee machine that sits in the corner. Clint’s not quite sure what’s going on here, but that’s Phil’s third cup of coffee in the hour or so that Clint’s been sat here.

 

Clint shifts, moving to the desk to have a look at the offending forms. It doesn’t take long to realise just why Coulson is frowning. Words like tinsel and wreaths and, yep there’s the stupidly expensive tree which doesn’t even include the lights or ornaments. It is an official SHIELD form, though, signed off by Agent Fields from Logistics, or Clint might think someone’s trying to pull some sort of prank on Coulson. 

 

“Did someone accidently blow up Santa’s workshop?” Clint asks as he skims through the rest of the report, all of which is Christmas related, right down to the 2 dozen cases of eggnog.

 

“That’s apparently the final list of requirements for the SHIELD Christmas party,” Phil says grimly, and takes a sip of his coffee. “Apparently this year they’ve decided that it needs to be some sort of ‘festive extravaganza’.”

 

Clint grimaces, flicking to the total at the end of the report and actually wincing in sympathy. Clint likes a good party, but if his childhood has taught him anything, it’s that you don’t need to spend a lot to have a good time. This sort of spending, on a night most people will be too drunk to remember anyways just seems pointless. Not to mention, the organisers seem to be forgetting that these very fancy decorations are going to be in a room full of SHIELD agents. He's sure it'll look very pretty... for like, the first five minutes. If they hold up after that, it'll be a miracle.

 

“No wonder Americans practically bankrupt themselves every year. $300 for a tree that’s going to spend 90% of the year in storage,” Coulson sounds almost outraged and Clint kind of wants to laugh, as much as he agrees with him. He's never seen Coulson work himself up like this. Even in the face of imminent torture, other agent's incompetence, and that one occasion when someone in Logistics somehow forgot to order coffee, Coulson has remained calm, with maybe a minor facial twitch to betray just how unacceptable he finds the situation. This, this is an honest to god rant that is definitely not in Coulson's usual bounds of calm, and Clint feels slightly priveleged that maybe Coulson trusts Clint enough to let his guard down too. Clint listens carefully as Coulson gets worked up about the waste and economic disaster that is what the media deems a ‘traditional Christmas’. As Coulson winds down the end of the rant, Clint has an idea.

 

“Want to come with me to the range? I think we could both use some firing practice.” It’s what Clint does when he needs to release some pent up frustration and Coulson’s looks like he could use it.

 

“God, yes.” Coulson says and he’s halfway out the door before he finishes speaking, the offensive expenditure form forgotten on his desk. Clint trails behind, watching in amusement as the other agents in the corridor take one look at Coulson and move out of the way as quickly as possible, avoiding eye contact. It's practically the first lesson taught to new agents. When Coulson moves, you move. Otherwise, you tend to be in for a rather unpleasant afternoon.

 

Clint’s own afternoon is looking up. Coulson’s just as competent with firearms as he is with everything else, and Clint can definitely appreciate the skill. 

 

~~

“Barton, with me.”

 

Clint turns without hesitation, placing his bow carefully back in its case and falling into step behind Coulson as they leave the range. He's only been on the range for an hour, but he feels no desire to stick around and keep shooting. Normally, after an hour of practice on the range, he’s relaxed and starting to get into a rhythm, but today he feels like the tension and irritation is actually worse.

 

The SHIELD Christmas party is tonight, and apparently SHIELD agents are just as prone to excited gossip as the rest of the world. All day long, it's all he's heard about. He knows more about other agents fashion choices, date plans and food preferences than he has any desire to know. There's a betting pool on everything from who's going to get the drunkest to if this will finally be the year when Fitz and Simmons from R&D get together. Even on the range, there’s a large debate about whether or not SHIELD should run an inter-department Secret Santa. So right at this moment? He’s quite prepared to follow Coulson anywhere as long as it’s away from there.

 

Only they aren’t heading for Coulson’s office or the cafeteria or even Fury’s office. Instead they are making their way down, almost as if they are heading to the car park. “New mission, sir?”

 

“I thought perhaps you could use the distraction. I need a break from all of the Christmas talk and I could use the company.”

 

“They got to you too, huh?” Clint grins, already letting go of the niggling sense of irritation that’s been building all day. “What’s the plan?”

 

They’ve made their way down to the car park beneath SHIELD HQ and Clint can already see Lola, Phil’s beloved shiny, red convertible waiting in Coulson’s car space. Clint knows how much Phil loves that car, but he’s never been in it before. First time for everything though, right?

 

“If you’re interested, I have a backlog of TIVO and we can pick up food on the way? Figured we could have our own ‘Anti-Christmas’ party,” Coulson offers, as he unlocks the car and gets into the drivers side. It’s clear that he expects Clint to get in and Clint really can’t think of anything he’d rather be doing.

 

“Sounds like a plan, sir,” Clint says and he slides into the passenger seat, admiring the leather seatwork and wishing his boots are a little bit cleaner. He feels a little bit out of place, like he's invading Coulson's space, even with the invitation. But Coulson smiles at him and adjusts the radio until it settles on something low and unoffensive. No Christmas tunes tonight. 

 

They pick up pizza and beer on their way to Coulson’s place, and Clint’s suddenly very unsure of himself when Coulson pulls into a non-descript apartment building. In all the years that he’s worked with Coulson, he’s never been invited here before. This isn't like the car, because even though it's Coulson's pride and joy, it's still just a car. This is Coulson's home, the place where he goes to unwind or destress and stop being Agent Coulson, even for a little bit. It feels private, and Clint feels like it's some sort of step on a path he can't quite see yet. But then, it's possible he's being ridiculous. Coulson doesn't hesitate though, walking away from the car with the pizza. He turns when he reaches the door, obviously waiting for Clint.

 

Clint flushes slightly and hurries after him, clutching the beer to his chest as he goes. The apartment Phil lets him into is on the third floor, and the wide open windows along one wall overlook a park across the road. When he’s thought about it, Clint’s always expected Coulson’s apartment to be neat and tidy, and it doesn’t disappoint. Everything seems to be in its proper place, but despite that and the fact that Clint knows that Coulson can spend months at a time without stepping foot through the door, the whole place feels homey. Lived in, even.

 

Coulson moves forward and places the pizza on a small coffee table in front of the TV. He gestures for Clint to move further into the room. “Make yourself comfortable. I’ll just be a minute.”

 

Coulson disappears into the room off to one side, leaving Clint on his own. Clint moves into the kitchen, trying not to disturb too much as he sets the six pack of beer in Coulson’s fridge. He grabs two out and moves towards the couch to wait. He doesn’t have to wait long.

 

Coulson reappears wearing a pair of slacks and a t-shirt, looking more informal than Clint’s ever seen him. Clint’s mouth goes dry, and he reaches for the beer that’s sat in front of him. “Coulson…”

 

“Phil,” Coulson interrupts, causing Clint to look at him in surprise. Phil just shrugs. “Clint, I’ve invited you to my apartment, I’m fairly sure you can call me by my first name.”

 

“Phil,” Clint deliberately sounded it out slowly, almost as if he’s struggling with the short name. Coulson, Phil, just rolls his eyes and turns the TV on. Clint turns the name over in his head, and that warm feeling that he's been getting more and more often spreads through him. In many ways, it’s a good way to distinguish between the badass competent Agent Coulson and the softer, more open man who’s sat next to him, and Clint finds himself hoping that he’ll get to see more of Phil in the future. “So, Phil, what are we watching?”

 

“Wife swap,” Phil says without a moment’s hesitation or any hint of embarrassment. Clint chuckles, taking a long swig of his beer and settling back onto the couch.

 

“Alright then.” Clint’s never really watched wife swap before, but the basics are relatively simple and he's soon sitting there enjoying the family drama. Phil seems to be enjoying himself, smiling around bites of pizza and occasionally throwing glances at Clint. It’s comfortable, and Clint has to wonder why they’ve never done this before. 

 

It’s not until he’s hailing down a cab to get him back to his apartment, that he wonders how the Christmas party went. He hasn’t even thought about it, or anything festive at all for hours. Turns out that Phil’s company is the perfect distraction, and he wishes more than anything that he could’ve stayed longer.

 

~~

 

“So, what are you getting Coulson for Christmas?” Natasha asks, and Clint blinks at her. She’s stretched out along his couch, flicking through some of his junk mail with an expression of vague disinterest. Clint’s just impressed he didn’t flinch, because he’s certain he had been alone two minutes ago.

 

“When did you get back?” he asks, because she knows how he feels about Christmas, even if she hasn’t been around as much this year to listen to his whingeing. He’s been getting that particular question a lot lately, though, and he's starting to get sick of it. Halfway through December, and apparently, it’s unheard of that people aren’t rushing out to buy over-priced gadgets and knick-knacks for everyone they know.

 

“I got back last night,” Natasha answers, and she’s got that deliberately neutral expression that she uses when she’s looking for information. “I heard you’ve been spending a lot of time with Coulson.”

 

“He’s my handler.” Clint kept his own tone blank and uninteresting, because Natasha might be amongst SHIELD’s best at infiltration and gathering intel, but Clint is a Level 7 Agent in his own right, and there are things that he’s not willing to admit to himself, let alone have Natasha poking at it. He and Phil _have_ been spending more time together lately, and he doesn't want to do anything that's going to risk the quiet nights hanging out on Phil's couch and watching bad television.

 

“He’s been your handler for four years. You’ve never spent time at his apartment before.”

 

“Anti-Christmas celebrations. Apparently me and Ph..Coulson share a dislike against the festive stupidity.” _Damn it_. Natasha’s eyebrow skyrocket at his rookie mistake, but recently Clint's been struggling to separate the side of Phil he sees when they are alone, and the competent Coulson he works with. Clint glares at her, but she just laughs.

 

“Bout time you figured it out,” Natasha says, like she’s known for a while about this weird thing that Clint’s feeling for Phil. She’s looking at him as if she can read his mind; see the thoughts that he’s been having about Phil, and the things he’d like to do to him if Phil let him. Clint flushes in embarrassment, but it only makes Nat laugh harder. “So, what are you getting him for Christmas?”

 

“I’m not getting him anything for Christmas. That’s kind of the point of Anti-Christmas.” Clint says, and Natasha just raises an eyebrow at him as if he’s being particularly stupid. He glares at her. They’ve been best friends for over two years and he’s never bought her a Christmas present, why would he buy one for Phil? 

 

Finally, Natasha sighs, and with a roll of her eyes she lets the subject drop. Instead Clint fills her in on the rest of the SHIELD gossip, ridiculous Christmas shenanigans included, and Nat tells him some of the less classified details about where she’s been. She’s been gone for three months and he’s more than glad that she’s back. 

 

She gives him a hug as she’s leaving, a sign that she’s missed him more than usual, because while they are tactile people and comfortable in each other’s space, they are rarely affectionate. He’s grinning when they break apart and she smiles back fondly.

 

“Think about the present, Clint,” she says instead of goodbye, and she closes the door behind her before he can reply.

 

Clint frowns. All of this expectation around buying and receiving presents is exactly what he hates about Christmas, and Phil’s made it perfectly clear just how much the idea frustrates him. But Nat’s the sixth person to ask him what he’s getting Phil this week. They've made no secret of the time that they spend together - late nights in the office, lunches in the cafeteria, and he's slipped into Coulson's car at the end of the day on a number of occasions. Clint's fairly sure there's a betting pool going about the exact nature of their relationship, and Clint can't deny that he finds himself thinking about the other man more and more whenever he lets his thoughts drift. 

 

With a strange sense of urgency he’s hit with the realisation that he wants to get Phil a present. He wants to surprise him, and earn one of those rare Coulson smiles that Clint’s been seeing with increasing frequency of late. He vaguely remembers seeing things on his grocery run last week, unconsciously picking each item up and turning it over in his hand and wondering if Phil would like it.  He put them all back, but he's fairly sure that it's only because Phil doesn’t like all that commercial stuff, and Clint finds that he really wants to get Phil something that he actually wants.

 

Well. Damn. There goes the Anti-Christmas spirit.

 

~~~

 

Clint stands in front of Phil’s door on Christmas Eve feeling uncharacteristically nervous. He’s always been the type of guy who jumps first and never hesitates; it’s what’s kept him alive all these years. He’s too close to this, too close to Phil, and this feels like that moment where he’s standing on the edge about to jump but he can’ see a way to break his fall.

 

One hand clenches around the carefully wrapped object in his hand, and he raises his hand to knock. At least that’s the idea. It hovers an inch from the door and Clint just can’t bring himself to let it connect.

 

After another moment, his hand falls back to his side and he sighs.

 

A month ago he might not have hesitated, but now he knows the risks better. There’s too much to lose by trying to change things now.

 

Slowly he turns to leave, shoving the small parcel into his coat pocket. Everything will go back to the way it’s been and Clint can pretend he’s happy leaving it as it is.

 

Of course, that’s the moment when Phil appears at the other end of the corridor.

 

“Clint?” Phil looks surprised to see him, his eyes widening ever so slightly. He looks like he’s just been jogging, his face pink from exertion and wind chill. There’s a small, welcoming smile, but Clint is fairly sure he looks like a startled rabbit and Phil’s smile is quickly replaced with concern.

 

“I… uh…” Clint stumbles over the words, unsure what he’s supposed to do for a moment. ’ _Fuck it’_ he thinks, and shoves his hand back into his pocket and pulls out the small present. Clint shoves it at Phil who has a strangely thoughtful expression on his face. Phil makes no move to take the present and Clint finds himself babbling. “I know we said no Christmas, I mean, this whole thing started with the Anti-Christmas thing, but I saw this and you said you like the family/friends thing. I just…”

 

Phil reaches out and his hands close over the present, his fingers brushing against Clint’s hand. The smile he gives Clint is warm and Clint carefully tries to ignore the blush he’s fairly sure is colouring the back of his neck. Phil takes the present, turning it over carefully in his hands.

 

“It’s not much,” Clint says quickly. He should have just gone shopping like everyone else. Somewhere, in one of the New York malls there’s bound to be a perfect Christmas present for Phil just waiting for Clint to buy it. Instead he’s spent the past week and a half trying to remember some of the less showy, but generally more practical skills that he learnt in the circus. “I didn’t want to get you something stupid or really commercial or something.”

 

Phil unwraps the present with the same neat precision that he does everything with and Clint’s stomach flips. It seems like the forever before Phil pulls the paper away from the deep blue fabric within. Phil runs his fingers over the fabric appreciatively, before letting it unfold so that he could take in the whole scarf. There’s a hint of incredulity and wonder in his tone when he asks: “You made this? I didn’t know you could knit.”

 

“I learnt in the circus. Making our own clothes almost always worked out cheaper and knitting’s a good way to keep a couple of teenage boys out of trouble while on the road,” Clint offers with a shrug. Phil runs his fingers through the wool again, before reaching up and wrapping the scarf around his neck and Clint can’t help the huge grin that spreads across his face.

 

“I didn’t get you anything,” Phil says after a moment, one hand absently stroking the end of the scarf, and Clint swallows, because it’s now or never and he doesn’t want to chicken out.

 

“You could always take me out for coffee sometime?” Clint offers, forcing himself not to duck his head or turn away when Phil looks up sharply. Those beautiful blue eyes are filled with surprise and hope and something that Clint’s never seen before but he really hopes is desire.

 

“I’d like that, Clint,” Phil says, and takes a step forward so that they are almost touching. Clint grins, taking hold of the scarf still around Phil’s neck and pulls him forward for a kiss. Phil kisses back, wrapping his arms around Clint and pulling him closer.

 

Maybe Christmas isn’t so bad after all.


End file.
